Mute Speak
by LiliOfTheValley
Summary: A 'Pay Up' fic focusing on the aftermath of the shooting from Angell's perspective. What was going through her mind and what was she unable to say?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: 'Pay Up' left me feeling rather unsatisfied, so I decided to play around with the idea that Jess was still really present when we saw Don rushing her to the hospital, even if she wasn't able to communicate it. I was struck by how much Jess was moving her mouth, like she was trying to talk, but wasn't quite able to get any words out.

***

As Detective Jessica Angell hits the ground she quickly becomes aware of two facts. One, despite the gunshot wounds to the abdomen and chest, she isn't in any pain and two, she can't move. Despite her injuries, her mind is clear enough to know that neither symptom points to a positive prognosis. Jess wonders if Don thought he was going to die after the explosion and thinks maybe being convinced of your impending death is a natural part of any serious injury, life threatening or not. Maybe thinking she is going to die is normal and really she's going to live, Jess hopes, but doesn't really believe. The cringe worthy newspaper headlines that her last name would produce is reason enough to fight to stay alive. So she fights.

If she could move, Detective Angell would pick up the cell phone she dropped the moment the truck crashed through the window. She'd call Flack so she'd have a familiar and friendly voice in her ear rather than the nameless rookie who is hovering over her and nervously babbling. She still can't really feel her body, but she thinks he is probably applying pressure to her wounds. If she could talk, she'd tell him not to bother. She's relatively certain she's going to die anyway. Jess wishes Flack was with her, not that she thinks he could do anything to save her, but maybe if he were there she'd be able to feel something. Jess doesn't want to exit this world numb.

Time takes on a funny elastic quality. Jess isn't so much aware of the passing time as she is aware of her inability to process stimuli. She knows she isn't feeling properly, or she'd be in pain and able to feel the pressure of the rookie cop ineffectively trying to stop the blood seeping from the hole in her stomach. She knows she isn't really able to smell, or she'd smell the metallic stench of her own blood. The clattering noise around her is reduced to a muffled din, like when she was a little girl playing in the pool, seeing how long she could hold her breath under water.

"Jess, Jess!"

Jess could swear that she could hear Don calling her name somewhere beyond her muted and waterlogged awareness. Maybe he hadn't hung up the phone. Maybe he was still on the other end, trying, hoping she'd be there after all the chaos and the noise she couldn't hear died down. Maybe, if she mustered up all her strength, she could find the words to get the rookie to hold the phone up to her ear, just so she could listen to Don's voice. Or maybe she was just imagining things; another sign that these weren't gunshot wounds that she would recover from.

"Jess!"

Don's voice is louder, and for a moment Jess is content to listen to him call her name, even if it is only a hallucination. And then Don is there, real and anguished and absolutely beautiful. Jess smiles, but only in her mind because her face refuses to move, and knows that Don can't see it. All he can see is the blood.

Don is talking to her, but now her mind is less clear and although she tries to focus on him, his words slip past her. She thinks she can feel him touch her face, run his hand through her hair, but she can't be certain. Jessica Angell never thought she was scared of dying, and aside from writing her will and establishing a power of attorney when she joined the force, Jess mostly avoided thinking about the hazards that came with her job. But being trapped in her body as it continues to shut down, not even able to communicate, terrifies her beyond belief. She knows her mouth is moving and that her head is fruitlessly flopping back and forth, but she can't get any words out, can't even focus her eyes long enough to let Don know that she knows he's with her.

Jess thinks she feels Don pick her up, but it isn't until she's looking at the interior roof of a squad car does she realize she's been moved from the diner. Don's face isn't hovering above her and for a moment panic settles somewhere in her abdomen, above the gun shot wound, and she's worried he isn't with her any more. But then he reappears in her line of sight and if her body would let her, Jess would sob with relief. As much as Jessica Angell doesn't want to die, she is even more terrified of dying alone.

"Don."

Jess finally gets her vocal cords and mouth working, but uttering that one scratchy syllable is more taxing than she imagined it could be. As a cop who could chase down suspects with relative ease and a sister who could keep up with and even outmatch her four brothers, her sudden weakness maddens her. Jess knows she won't be able to say anything else, no matter how hard she fights her failing body.

"Hey baby. Hey, can you look at me? Can you focus on me? You're going to be alright; we're almost at the hospital."

Jess wants to smile and she thinks she might have succeeded when she sees Don smiling down at her.

"That's my girl. You just hang in there. You're going to be ok. You're going to be ok."

It's getting more and more difficult to keep her eyes open and every time she blinks she struggles to lift her eyelids one more time. The fear of closing her eyes forever keeps Jess from giving in to the sleep that has been creeping up on her since before Flack appeared. Jess knows, hospital or no hospital, she isn't going to make it much longer. The tears pooling in Don's eyes confirm her suspicions and belie his encouraging and comforting words.

Then the pain comes. It seeps into her and all Jess can do is take desperate gasps of air. She can't even cry out. She feels Don's hand pressing on her abdomen, trying to stop the flow of blood, and the other unattended bullet wound in her shoulder. She wonders, briefly, if maybe this is a good thing. If maybe this means she might survive. Jessica Angell is not ready to die, so she'll take the pain if it means she gets some more time.

Jess feels the police car stop suddenly, sending fresh waves of pain through her body. Flack is talking again, but as Jess focuses on the newfound pain she misses the words and only processes his panicked tones. Jess becomes aware of other voices and feels Flack lift her again and lay her gently down on a gurney. Then there are many faces above her. An oxygen mask is placed over her nose and mouth and suddenly it's a little easier to breathe. As the doctors wheel her in Jess is aware that they are talking to her, but she continues to focus only on Don, who is still by her side. She can feel him clutching her hand and hopes he knows that if she could, she'd be squeezing his hand back.

And then the group rushes through a set of double doors and Don is gone. Words like 'organ damage' and 'liver' filter into her brain and only when Jess feels a stabbing sensation in her arm does she realize she is now attached to an IV and being prepped for what is hopefully life-saving surgery. With Don's face no longer in her line of sight, Jess finds it easy to close her eyes and drift away.

***

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and please review!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I decided to continue in an AU direction. I'm not sure if this is going to be the last section or not yet. Enjoy!

***

When Jess opens her eyes again she is disoriented and confused. She assesses her situation, taking in the impersonal white walls and the lines flowing from her body to beeping machines, and comes to suspect she is in a hospital. Jessica Angell is, after all, a detective, and able to discern such subtleties and nuances. As Jess congratulates herself on her masterful detective skills she also comes to suspect that she is heavily drugged. Detective Angell puts her skill of deduction to further use and concludes she has been unconscious for some time, judging by her dry throat and somewhat oily hair. The general lack of activity and the lowered lights leads Jess to believe that it is nighttime and the extremely disheveled Detective Flack sacked out on an uncomfortable looking and much too small chair confirms it.

With his head thrown back and his legs splayed out in front of him, Jess is certain she has never seen a more beautiful image in her life than Don Flack sleeping in a plastic hospital chair. She tries to sit up to get a better look at him, but quickly discovers she is completely and totally unable to maneuver her upper body in any way. For a moment, she wonders why.

'Right,' she thinks to herself, 'Shot. Twice.'

Jess hadn't forgotten, but rather the memory had settled somewhere in the back of her brain, like a disconcerting dream that fades upon waking. But it hadn't been a dream. Despite being stoned to the gills with what she is certain are some high quality drugs, a heavy, throbbing pain spreads like hot tar from within her abdomen and left shoulder. She remembers the dread of dying alone and the uncertainty of every next breath. No, it had been very real. Recalling the terror of being unable to form words, to communicate, makes her abused abdominal muscles involuntarily clench, and it hurts. A lot.

"Don."

The word comes out much softer and scratchier than she expected but Jess savors the ability to speak again.

"Don."

She can still only muster a whisper and Don Flack scrunches up his face in his sleep. Jess notices that his face doesn't hold the usual measure of peace that sleep brings his features. She is certain she is the cause of his deeply furrowed eyebrows and alarmingly pallid skin.

"Don."

This time, his eyes shoot open. He stays impossibly still, not even breathing, as he stares at her.

"Hey."

Like a spell being lifted at the stroke of midnight, that one ineloquent word breaks Don Flack from his trance. He scrambles out of the chair and onto his knees, bringing his face level with hers. Hope and excitement transforms the face that was moments ago aged with worry into that of an eager young boy. Jess feels her dry lips pull as her face stretches into a broad smile. Don's sudden closeness brings happy flutters to her stomach, leaving no room for pain.

'Hospital grade morphine has nothing on this man,' she thinks.

He still hasn't spoken, still hasn't touched her, and Jess feels like he is drifting away, mentally retreating to the unhappy possibilities of the last few days. She doesn't need to know how many days it's been or how extensive the damage was to know how close she came to dying. The weariness that has taken up residence in the soul of Don Flack since the last time she saw him tells her everything. It was damn close.

"Hey Don. Hey, listen to me. Listen. I'm alright. Everything is ok now."

Jess expects him to break out into a smile that matches her own, maybe to even laugh as he finally lets himself touch her and believe that she really is ok. Instead, a sob escapes and Don buries his head in his hands, against the unforgiving mattress, equal parts relieved and apologetic as sobs involuntarily rip from his body like spasms of absolution. Jess is scared to touch him, concerned that running her fingers through his hair might send him further over the edge rather than comfort him. The pain of seeing Don so distraught is made all the worse by the irrefutable knowledge that she is responsible for his current anguish, although Jess is more than willing the place the majority of the blame on the shooter himself.

Jess is too tired and too drugged to worry anymore and gives in to her urge to touch him. She is grateful that Don took up residence on her right side, as her uninjured arm allows her the mobility to sweep her fingers across the back of his head as Don continues to press his face into the mattress. The sobs fade away quickly, much like a violent downpour that swiftly dissipates. Soon his breathing regulates, no longer coming in choking gasps, and for a moment Jess thinks that Don somehow managed to fall asleep in what could probably be classified as the world's most uncomfortable position.

With a final deep breath, Don lifts his head to look at her. As Jess lets her hand fall to cup his cheek, Don finally smiles. Hardly giving her time to worry about just how terrible her breath must smell, he leans the rest of the way forward for a chaste kiss. He pulls back far enough to look at Jess and smile, but quickly leans forward again, pressing their foreheads together, listening to and feeling themselves breathe in unison.

"I missed you."

***

A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!


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